I’ve dove Dos Ojos a few times. I know that it’s a popular cenote with both snorkelers and scuba divers getting their first taste of cenote diving. For me, I happen to like Dos Ojos. Despite having a few dives in this particular cenote, I always find it an enjoyable dive.
This time around, it was the desire to do three cenote dives in one day that brought me back. Typically, when someone wants to do three cenote dives in a day, a dive shop will take you to the Dos Ojos park, where there are at least 4 other cenotes besides Dos Ojos all close by. Sometimes you’ll dive the Pit, sometimes el Jaguar. Today, the schedule was Nicte-Ha (at my request) followed by two dives at Dos Ojos.
By the time we arrived at the entrance to Dos Ojos for the second and third dives, numerous other divers were already there. During our second dive, we pass so many divers underwater that it feels a little like a busy thoroughfare. Their lights bring an artificial brightness and illuminate a vast swath of the cavern.
So the stark contrast on dive three, when we virtually had the whole cenote to ourselves, led to an eerie feeling. Suddenly, the over illumination is gone, leaving just my and my guide’s lights. Tiny fish swim across the light beam, casting large shadows and making me look for much larger fish. The rational part of my brain, the part that knows this dive, knows there are no large fish in here. But the irrational part, the part that likes to intensify my fears when the lights go out, says, “what if there is a larger fish in those snaking tunnels that cavern divers just aren’t supposed to go?” Realistically, I know that cavern divers aren’t supposed to go down those tunnels due to safety reasons. That enters true cave diving territory, and that requires a lot more training.
But the tiny fish continue to swim through the light beams, and on more than one occasion, an oversized shadow has me looking for the fish that cast it.
Deeper into the cenote, we find another entrance, one that a few other snorkelers have access to. While we are aware they are there, I’m not so sure they know we are. It’s very shallow at this spot, maybe 5 feet deep, and an insidious thought creeps into my mind. I could reach out and pinch this snorkeler, who may or may not know I’m here and who is getting a little close to kicking me from above. The thought entertains me for a moment: becoming a cave monster, that thing that lurks in the dark and grabs an unsuspecting tourist. But I keep my hands to myself, knowing full well that while I might find it funny, I’m equally sure they won’t.
By the time we surface, the area is almost clear of divers. Maybe one or two stragglers, but certainly not the large numbers we saw an hour ago. We slowly break down our gear and start to pack up before another diver points out that we have a very flat tire. In an impressive display of MacGyver-ism, my guide uses one of my tanks and my regulator hose to put enough air back in the tire to get us, at least, to a nearby auto shop. The drive on dirt roads out of the jungle is a cause of amusement, driving slowly so we don’t re-deflate the tire. I am unbothered by this development as it seems par for the course when having jungle adventures.
